


A Promise of Protection

by waterofthemoon



Series: Name That Author/Guess The Author Challenge Fills [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthurian, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Middle Ages, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26036818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Aziraphale gifts Crowley with something and, despite himself, agrees to something else. Arrangement fic!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Name That Author/Guess The Author Challenge Fills [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805698
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51
Collections: SOSH - Guess the Author #4 "A Gift"





	A Promise of Protection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Guess The Author round 4 in the Soft Omens Snuggle House Discord. The prompt was a gift! Thanks to @IsleofSolitude for the help in brainstorming this! ❤️

In the forests of Wessex, somewhere where, Aziraphale hopes, neither Arthur's men nor the Black Knight's will find them, he and Crowley are sitting on a fallen log and catching up with each other.

Their armor has long since been shed; their horses graze on the other side of the clearing. Aziraphale spares them a glance before drawing his attention back to Crowley.

He doesn't agree with Crowley's proposal. There's no harm in this, though—a bout of civil dialogue between sides—as long as they aren't caught. They've been doing it for hundreds of years, after all.

"Listen." Aziraphale fumbles in his pack until he finds what he's looking for. He can feel Crowley's uncovered eyes on him, curious but willing to wait. "I have something for you."

That gets Crowley to sit up properly. " _Do_ you?"

"It's—" Aziraphale stops fussing and meets Crowley's eyes. "It's a token. To keep you safe."

"Angel—"

He fiddles with the thing, keeping it out of Crowley's sight. A bit of sleight of hand. "A silly superstition, I know. Very human of me. But—I should hate to see something happen to you."

Crowley looks askance at him. "Angel, I keep myself safe. You don't have to _worry_ about me."

"Even so." Aziraphale pushes the gift into Crowley's hand.

It's nothing much—just a stone he picked up somewhere and held on to. Dark gray, worn smooth with handling, with a hole carved through the center and a leather cord looped through the hole. He resists the urge to take it back, to tie it around Crowley's neck, and simply closes Crowley's fingers around it. Even at that gesture, Crowley's eyes go wide.

"Sure you won't reconsider?" Crowley places his other hand on top of Aziraphale's, so that his rests between both of Crowley's.

The stone is a talisman, a reminder. Aziraphale's real gift is the blessing bestowed with it, a ripple of power concentrated there and spreading out, over Crowley and filling the small clearing.

Crowley looks like he wants to flinch from it, but he holds Aziraphale's gaze. "We'll be very careful," he says. "Exceedingly careful. No one will even notice."

"Out of the question," Aziraphale says. "We're on opposite sides. We can't cross that. But…."

"But?" Crowley prompts. He arches one eyebrow, delicately so.

Aziraphale knows, looking at him, that he's as good as given in to Crowley's scheme. "Perhaps we can still help each other. Not trading assignments. Just… lending a hand."

"Staying out of each other's way?"

Aziraphale mentally girds himself. "If it doesn't interfere with our own work… yes."

"All right, then." Crowley squeezes his hand, then withdraws his own and kisses the top of Aziraphale's. It steals Aziraphale's breath; Crowley has to be the one to pull away.

"Will you stay?" Crowley asks. "A few minutes longer. The side of good can do without you that long."

Aziraphale considers Crowley, the quiet afternoon, the stone Crowley's tucking into his bag for safekeeping. "I suppose they can."


End file.
